"YOU'RE TOO SMART TO BE WORKING HERE."
Do you know how many fucking times I’ve heard that? I just rubbed my naked body all over a man who smelled like piss and I have a small cut on my inner thigh that could be turning into a staph infection at this very moment. How smart can I be? Would I have been happier if I had gone to law school? Would I be happier dealing with prison inmates as I had planned? Or working at Kinko’s? What does that comment even mean? It’s one of those backhanded compliments. Would you say the same thing to a cab driver or a bartender? You think I’m foxy, you gather that I’m not a total ditz, and you want to get in my pants. If you think the way to do it is by “complimenting” my intelligence, you’re wrong, pal. Try offering me a suitcase full of cash, that’ll warm me up. I have a good life; I think that’s pretty smart.
A friend of a friend made a negative crack about strippers the other night. I should have asked what the fuck he was doing with his life that was so important or Earth shattering; at least I make people laugh and feel good. I should have asked why I have to be either a brain surgeon or a “stupid” stripper. Who made these idiotic rules? But I didn’t. Some people just cannot understand that there are intelligent woman who choose to take their clothes off for money.
Having said that, my night began with me putting on a leather collar with a tiny bell that a regular had bought for me—it was totally ridiculous. I call this guy “The Choker” because he likes to choke me. He doesn’t do it too much and sometimes I like this during sex so it’s no big deal. But he does this one thing that drives me crazy; he rubs my inner thigh with his thumb and I hate it. Rub, rub, rub, in the same spot. It makes my skin crawl not to mention causes a raw spot on my thigh. I would say something, but men are sensitive and we’re supposed to love everything they do.